Bittersweet
by Peak-in-Darien
Summary: Obscure: Royal Tenenbaums, EliRichie.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sad, sad, sad for me huh? ;) All the characters belong to the movie The Royal Tenenbaums. Yup. Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson own them.  
  
Warning: this is slashy. Slash slash slash. Did I mention that?  
  
This was written for my wonderful 'sisters of FOWL': ALLSHERR and wonderfulowen. Thankyou for providing me with lots of slashy inspiration over the past weeks, hehe.  
  
------BITTERSWEET-------  
  
Richie breathes a sigh as he pierces the night with his eyes. From the appartment window he can see Eli running away. As Eli cuts through strips of light from lit-up windows, glimpses of blonde hair are visible.  
  
Richie feels a stirring inside himself.  
  
Once more he has been foiled. The drugs are Eli's driving force, and Richie cannot break that barrier. He runs a hand over his stubble, and feels it pricking his fingers. The hardness of himself gives him resolve. With long strides he carries himself to the stairs, his shoulders square and muscular. Down, down to the pavement.  
  
He can almost smell it in the night: the trail. The scent. Immediately he knows where Eli has gone, and he starts jogging to the left.  
  
Richie has no worries. He will catch up, he will outmanoevre. It is he who is the tennis ace, after all. The tautness in his legs is there for a reason, and he flies over pavement in the night.  
  
He knew this. He sees it now: Eli, bent and gasping on a corner. As the streetlamp sheds its mane of light onto his friend, Richie sees the crooked nose and the eyes. Oh, those eyes, fuelled by a blue fire.  
  
He feels a deep heat in his stomach, and he stops. What can this mean? This is his friend, his friend since he was young enough to be thrown out of the house.  
  
Eli looks up, and those eyes hit Richie once more.  
  
"Why were you running?"  
  
Eli gasps. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be." It is all too unnatural for Richie, so he moves closer, and he falls into the light. The two men stand and face each other, and for a moment their faces are inches away.  
  
Then Eli springs. He is going to set off again, to run until his feet compact the pavement and his knees dry up.  
  
Richie throws out a huge hand and pulls him back. They tussle for a moment in an awkward dance, and their shoulders are thrown together. Richie holds his friend, holds his warm arms until he ceases to struggle.  
  
"Careful."  
  
He whispers the word in Eli's ear, so close and soft that there is something lustful about it, something desirous.  
  
Eli can feel it too now, the same heat inside him. His fingers make their way to Richie's shoulder, without him really knowing how.  
  
"Why don't you let me run?" Eli asks.  
  
"Because I love you, Eli."  
  
Richie reaches out and touches the waist of his friend, curving his arm around as if he has only just recognised where the burning inside him is coming from, and what it means. He sees the nervous flicker in his friend's eyes and he feels himself getting excited.  
  
"I love you too, Rich, we've always been that way. Together since we were so high."  
  
"That's not what I mean," says Richie.  
  
A strand of multi-faceted gold falls in front of Eli's face, and he pushes back the hair impatiently, confused. But he has only seconds before Richie is upon him.  
  
He tastes Richie's mouth on his in a sudden whirl of ardour. He feels his own fragility as Richie's weight pushes him against the lamppost. Strong hands stroke his body, and the post is rigid, long and hard against his back. A yearning whips itself into place for this pure indulgence. Their lips brush a second time, and then Richie's tongue is upon his.  
  
There is an arousal of emotion inside him. He should be disgusted, but he knows what he senses is stimulation.  
  
Bathed in the glow on the street corner, where anybody can see them but nobody is watching, Richie presses himself upon his friend. Eli feels a fire in his thighs, hot with supressed desires. He feels smooth fingers upon his sensitive skin, as Richie slips a hand into his trousers. The sudden groping gives him the power to reach up and kiss Richie's neck. His lips stay there, locked in pleasure and pain as Richie brings him to the pinnacle. His mouth opens for a second, a long climactic second in which he lets Richie feel further, lets him probe, until his dreams whirl before his eyes, and delight fills his head.  
  
Then Eli lets go.  
  
Richie kisses him softly once more. He traces the lines of the blonde hair, in slow arcs as he gentle brushes Eli's lips.  
  
For a moment Richie wonders if the drugs have some effect. If his friend is only allowing this because he is desensitised.  
  
He will never know. He revels in one last long, bittersweet kiss, before releasing.  
  
The two men walk home in silence. 


End file.
